Run with Me
by SmokeMyCancer
Summary: "Mickey's worth whatever it takes," Ian said as his feet hit pavement. GALLAVICH. In which Mickey Milkovich runs away from South Side and Ian Gallagher follows.
1. Chapter 1

Run with Me

Chapter One

Mickey Milkovich ran away from South Side. Ian knew this with sickening sadness. No one had seen Mickey in four days; not since he and Ian came to blows again in front of the Gallagher house, in the middle of lunch hour. Even Mandy, who had a nonchalance about her family and home life, was now kind of concerned. She'd even sent Ian and Lip out to all the places Mickey typically hid. Mickey hadn't been at any of them.

Guilt consumed Ian over the incident. He kept going over what happened in his head, wishing he had just left well enough alone. Mickey, he was fragile now. And not in the breakable sense. No Mickey was a grenade that Terry Milkovich pulled the pin from. And Ian had seen this coming since finding Mickey the first time on the roof. He'd seen how unstable Mickey was. Ian knew Mickey didn't talk about his emotions. And he should have known not to press Mickey into talking just because Ian was feeling uneasy himself.

Chewing his thumb, Ian sat on his back porch, empty beer bottle sitting by his heel. It was late. Close to eleven. Crickets sounded off around him, along with all the sounds South Side Chicago brought about.

Ian had been outside for more than an hour without moving from this spot. He was starting to get chill bumps up his arms. His ass and feet were numb.

The back door creaked open. Ian didn't bother turning around. He knew his unwelcomed guest was either Lip or Fiona. Judging by the heavy footsteps trotting down the steps, Lip was coming. He came to a stop one step up from Ian's back. Cleared his throat.

"You, uh," Lip started, "you been out here for a while. Want a jacket or something?" He asked this awkwardly. Ian heard the wheels turning in Lip's skull. Knew his brother was itching to get something off his chest. Tensions had been high between them since going out in search for Mickey. Since Lip witnessed Ian cry over this without saying a word about why.

After the two had turned up empty handed, Ian had cried, then kept mostly to himself. Why? Because he knew what Mickey was doing and his guts ached over it. Inner turmoil threatened to yank Ian in half. And the guilt gnawed a hole in his chest.

"Look," Lip breathed out and scratched his neck loudly, "I realize you're missing him. But hey, listen," he paused as if debating how to phrase what was sure to be an ignorant statement on Ian's love life, "it's not worth it. You're too good for him."

Ian snorted. Shaking his head, he dug through his pocket, fished out a joint and lighter. With no intention to share. "Just shut up, Lip," Ian mumbled out as he lit up. Holding in a deep puff, he said, "I don't want to talk right now."

Lip laughed bitterly. "Yeah," he sighed. Snide, he went on to say, "that's the problem, man. You never want to talk lately."

Which was true. Ian didn't respond to the statement, but he knew his brother was right. And he also knew how being left out of Ian's loop probably made Lip feel. Lip, who in the past, Ian always went to for advice, to get something off his chest, what have you. Lip who had always been Ian's confidant but now wasn't. The fact that Lip was about to spout off bullshit because he had no idea what was really going on was, truthfully, only Ian's fault. Yet that didn't change how this conversation made Ian's blood boil.

"Maybe you're just too blind to see it, Ian," Lip said bluntly, "but Mickey Milkovich is destroying you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ian said, voice low and dead.

"Oh really?" Lip chuckled and spit over the rail. "You seem to forget," he went on, heart in the right place but with terrible timing, "I was in a dead end relationship with a Milkovich too."

Ian's eyes bugged out but he chose to hold his tongue. Mandy hadn't been Lip's dead end. Mandy had been Lip's fucking salvation and the dipshit had run scared back to Karen Jackson's unforgiving bed. But this, Ian kept to himself. Swallowed down the sourness of truth in favor of fuming, wallowing in his own self hate for now.

"Stop acting like you know what's going on between us!" Ian growled. He took another drag, then brushed off the flame, pocketed the roach. "You have no idea!" he flared, fists by his side. Feet aching. His stomach leaped up. "No clue what you're even talking about!" Ian shouted now, jumping to his tingling feet. A rush of adrenaline shot through him. His legs gained back feeling. He stared daggers through his brother's furious face. Like dogs pitted against one another, they towered.

Lip shouted back, "He attacked you, Ian! That's not what happens in healthy relationships!"

And Lip wasn't wrong. But that didn't change how Ian felt. No two couples shared the same type of relationship. There was no such thing as conventional. Nothing was ever pure and healthy. Not that Ian had yet witnessed.

"You don't get him, Lip!" Ian reared back, mind being made up with each ticking second. He said, voice lowering as he took calming breaths, "It's not like that. You don't understand what happened." His throat threatened to seize up as knowledge fell into his lap. Thoughts that Ian hadn't been letting himself feel until this very second. "Mickey doesn't have _anyone_," Ian said and it hurt. "Not even his own fucking sister cares enough!" Ian snapped, eyes stinging. God damn, he was his mother's son. Emotional and empathetic beyond repair.

Lip slapped his own forehead, then shook out an exasperated laugh. "Oh okay! Care to enlighten me?" he demanded, face scrunched up in Ian's.

Calmly, Ian took a step back. He surprised and confused Lip by stuffing his hands into his pockets and frowning. Backing down from what Lip had obviously assumed would turn into a fight. Taking a moment to collect himself. "No," Ian said sternly, "No I don't. It's not your fucking business."

Because this wasn't anyone's buisness but Ian and Mickey's. This was their burden to bare. Anyone else getting involved at this point would only worsen the situation. And Ian thought briefly, _no wonder Mickey ran_. Then he huffed a laugh and looked sadly at the ground. Chewing his lip, Ian closed his eyes for a second and made his choice. Walking backward off the steps, Ian gave one last look at his brother before turning fast on his heel and slowly walking away from the house. He kicked the pool once, then went on.

"Ian!" Lip shouted out behind him. But didn't follow, thank fuck. "Ian, where are you going?" Lip plead angrily.

"To find Mickey!" Ian shouted, defiant.

"He's not worth this!"

Ian laughed and let a tear stream his cheek. He didn't bother wiping at it as he shook himself and flipped Lip off without turning. "Go fuck yourself!" Ian said. And then he confessed that which he'd not uttered even to himself. "Mickey's worth whatever it takes," he said as his feet hit pavement.

* * *

**NOTE: **

For myaddictionismusic

Being as episode 11 is called Order Room Service, I'm hoping, just like others, that Ian and Mickey wind up in a hotel at some point. Noel Fisher isn't listed under episode 12, that I'm aware of. So. . .this fic here. . .this is what I really hope happens but probably won't.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The crappy flat screen television illuminated the entire room in a blue hue. Even Mickey's skin was sickly looking. He held up his arm, turning it over and looking at it. Blue and pale. The outside looked cold to match how he felt , Mickey dropped his arm against the mattress. It bounced for a second on the shitty springs. Eye trained on the images of battling men in a ring before him, Mickey lay there and breathed. He wasn't really even watching this. The show had been on for all of thirty some minutes and Mickey hadn't the foggiest what was even conspiring. So, sighing, he picked the remote up off his chest and flipped off the screen. Darkness and silence filled the air. Mickey cleared his scratchy throat and shut his eyes. Not that he was sleepy. Just mentally exhausted. He'd fought so hard with himself over this decision. But in the end, Mickey figured running off to his estranged brother's house in Massachusetts was his best bet.

Surely this long trip would wind up one of two ways, though. Mickey pondered this on his empty stomach. Either Mickey would somehow manage to travel across five states via panhandling and theft, make it safe and be welcomed in; or Mickey would get arrested along the way and wind up in jail for a few years. Either way, Mickey was starting over. Doing this was in everyone's best interest.

Beside of him on the nightstand rested everything he had brought along: his wallet, a bag with one change of clothes, his smokes, and a prepaid cellphone. In Mickey's wallet was the one hundred dollar bill he'd managed to save. After what happened, Terry had forced Mickey into working at the meat packing plant in order to keep him away from Ian Gallagher. Mickey made more money at the plant. Unfortunately, Terry took almost all of it, as per usual. Fortunately, Mickey had planned in advance this running away. So that bill had been spared his father's hand.

Mickey hoped that would be enough to at least get him outside Chicago. After that, money would be hard to come by.

And all of this was a risk. Because Mickey hadn't even phoned up his brother, Shane. For all Mickey knew, Shane would turn him away. Hence the phone Mickey brought along. He would call Shane before arriving. But not that it mattered. Mickey couldn't go home regardless the outcome of his hopeful helping hand.

The clock on the far wall ticked by loudly. Through wall behind his head board, a couple fucked loudly. Mickey groaned and covered his head with a pillow. Which only served to muffle out the clock.

"God!" Mickey yelled out, "Fucking shoot off and clam up already!" The couple had been at this for almost an hour. Originally they'd been the reason Mickey turned on the television.

In protest, the woman screamed louder.

Mickey wished he'd had enough extra cash to pay for a hotel that didn't charge by the hour. Oh well. He'd only be in this shithole for one more night. Then he was getting on a Greyhound and never looking back.

With one last hoorah, the couple silenced.

"Thank you!" Mickey barked out. "Fucking assholes," he muttered to himself.

Not even a minute later, a knock came to his door. Loud and obnoxious. Mickey popped open his eye and dropped the pillow. Stared across the room, aghast. Did his neighbors actually have the gumption to walk their asses over here and bitch at him for cussing them? Mickey snorted.

"Bring it on, mother fucker," Mickey chuckled as he climbed out of bed. He'd had enough bullshit to last him a lifetime. His fist was itching to take out frustration. Someone who at least deserved it. Mickey ignored the gnawing at his stomach. Shame and guilt he felt over attacking the one person who'd cared enough to matter.

Running away was for Ian's own good, too.

Sniffing up his thought, Mickey cracked his knuckles and grabbed hold of the door handle. Smirk on his face, he flung it open and started to say, "Get your money's worth, douchebag?" But all Mickey managed to out was, "Get your," before he almost swallowed his tongue. Clamming up, Mickey quelled his racing heart. "How the fuck did you find me?" he asked hardly. Staring into the relieved face of Ian Gallagher.

Looking Mickey over as the runway held tightly to the door, Ian huffed out a laugh of pure joy. "I'm stubborn," he said quietly. "But I thought you'd be long gone by now," the words poured out of Ian in a rush, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as though he couldn't believe this himself. "Checking hotels was my last resort," he admitted.

Mickey looked away from Ian's vulnerable face. He knew his own revealed all. Wetting his lips, Mickey took a steadying breath and rested his forehead against the door and his hand. Ian didn't need to be here. However, that didn't change the warmth flooding Mickey's being at the sight of him. Not that this changed anything. Mickey knew what he had to do. Ian might as well face up. Letting his lips turn up at this, Mickey shook his head. "Get lost, Gallagher," he said.

Ian rolled his eyes and smiled. "No. Are you fucking kidding me, Mick?" he huffed. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I'm not just leaving now!" he declared.

Standing up straight, Mickey let go of the door and sighed. He'd done enough. It was whatever at this point. Mickey was far too exhausted to put up another fight, verbal or otherwise. So he stepped back and let Ian into the room, flipping on the light as he plopped down on the edge of his bed. Besides, Ian clearly didn't give two fucks about what Mickey wanted. Mickey rubbed his lip as he watched Ian shut the door and examine the surroundings

"This where you've been the whole time?" Ian asked, thumbing his wrists as he met Mickey's eyes.

"Yeah," Mickey said. He pulled his feet up onto the bed and crossed his legs. Stared numbly at his hands on his feet for a second, then went back to watching Ian. They'd been through so much in the span three months. Part of Mickey wanted nothing more to do with Ian. But a bigger, selfish piece of him wanted to crumble here and now and let Ian rework the puzzle. Because Mickey saw it in Ian's eyes that the kid would do exactly that. Ian Gallagher didn't have to stick around. Didn't have to push so hard. But he did. And Mickey knew that spoke volumes. Mickey wasn't blind to the face of love. Just that he didn't fully understand it. "What do you want?" Mickey asked weakly, unable to look away.

Because he wouldn't see Ian after this. He wouldn't. And now that the redhead and came here, Mickey felt glad. He hadn't wanted his last image of Ian Gallagher to be bruised and beaten under Mickey's own hand. Just before Mickey bolted.

"I don't know," Ian frowned. "You?" he sighed. Ian crossed his arms and held himself. Shielded himself for Mickey's words. It pained Mickey to watch Ian throw himself under the train. Ian Gallagher was a fucking saint. He knew, or at least Ian thought he knew, Mickey's response. And even assuming Mickey was about to hurt him yet again, here Ian stood, ready for it. Mickey's heart ripped open at the sight.

Mickey blinked back the sting his eyes. He pursed his lips calmly and took in a deep breath, chest rising. He held it as he made a new decision. "You sure you know what you're doing, Ian?" Mickey asked steadily.

Ian knitted his brow and took pause. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he shot back at Mickey. "Because I've never been more certain," he let out.

"Me either," Mickey said, raising his brows and glancing down at the bed beside of him, then quickly back at Ian.

Obliging, albeit wary, Ian sat down. Uncomfortably, hands folded between his bowed knees. They remained like this for a while. Not looking at each other. Mickey appeared tiny beside of Ian. The image of the two of them stared back at Mickey through darkened television screen. It was an image that Mickey didn't want to lose, despite everything. And he could see Ian was looking at them, too. Mickey didn't have to ask what Ian was thinking because the emotion was written on Ian. Ian, the open book. Mickey the sealed tight scroll.

Grinning softly, Mickey scratched his ankle and looked up at Ian. "I'm going to Massachusetts," he told. "Shane lives there with his roommates," Mickey continued. "I don't know if he'll let me stick around. But it's the best I got," he said, eyes trained on Ian's busted lip. One he'd split open. Mickey rubbed his knuckles against his calf at the memory.

Ian furrowed his brow. "Who's Shane?" he asked

It hit Mickey like a sack of rocks, just how little Ian Gallagher knew about him. Yet at the same time, Ian knew more information than anyone. "My half brother," Mickey sniffed casually. He shrugged. "He and my dad kind of hate each other. I'm hoping that will work to my advantage," Mickey laughed lightly.

Ian winced. "You ever coming back?" he asked, voice pained.

Mickey shook his head. "I need," he stopped himself and looked away. A gentle smile touched his face. Surprised at himself, Mickey thought, fuck it. "I need to fix myself," he said. "To start fresh and hope for something better than," Mickey waved about the room, face arched and smiling still, ironic, "this. All of this." And he glanced at Ian, then. "You know," he said, "almost all of this." Playful, he elbowed Ian's rib. Then cleared his throat and chewed his mouth, watching them again in the screen.

Ian chuckled. Smiled as he rubbed his side. "Am I ever going to see you again?" he asked.

"You want to?" Mickey asked, honestly stunned.

"Of course I do," Ian said. Studying Mickey's profile. He reached out and rested his hand by Mickey's hip, not touching, just timidly laid it on the mattress.

Looking down at Ian's hand, Mickey argued with himself. What was the use in keeping a wall up between him and this guy? None. There were already so many holes in Mickey's defense that it didn't matter. So he let go of his ankle and, fast before he could change his own mind, Mickey rested his hand on Ian's. Within seconds of doing so, Mickey felt a wash of release. Face open, mouth parted as he panted, heart racing, Mickey trailed his eyes from their hands to Ian's shocked face. Mickey twined their fingers and held on tight. "Then come with me," Mickey said, eyes burning with determination and fire. But he knew Ian wouldn't just leave his family. Knew he was being too hopeful, asking for too much. Unlike Mickey, Ian had roots in South Side. People he cared about. Situations Ian couldn't just run away from. Dreams that require Ian sticking around for a while longer.

And it was obvious to both of them. Still, Ian gripped Mickey's hand back. Thoughtful, Ian leaned in and pressed his lips against Mickey's jawbone. "I can't," Ian said, sadness heavy in his words. His eyes fluttered shut as he rested his forehead against Mickey's shoulder. "Not yet," he said softly and Mickey's heart stopped.

Mickey just looked down at their hands as he listened.

"But," Ian stuttered out. "Just don't give up on me, Mickey," he said. "Keep in contact," he said, breath hot on Mickey's skin, sending sparks of emotion through Mickey's brian. "Because I'll find you after graduation next year," Ian confessed. "Massachusetts isn't far from West Point," and his words lingered thick in the air.

Licking his lips, Mickey smiled wide and lidded his eyes, giving Ian better access to his exposed neck. To which Ian took full understanding and advantage. Laid on three most kisses to Mickey's flushed skin. Ian's free hand snaked up Mickey's back and dove needily into Mickey hair. Turning Mickey to face him, pulling down Mickey's chin, Ian stared for only a second before breathing out and pushing their lips together. He pulled back, both panting, rested his forehead onto Mickey's, hands still in place.

Mickey snorted, lips on fire and crotch aching. "I'd order you room service," he said suddenly, "but I don't think this place caters to that." After a long silence, Mickey shifted, pulled Ian down into the mattress. Teething his bottom lip, Mickey pressed himself into Ian like a safe haven. Took the boy's mouth into his again fervently. Need consuming him. Need for everything: for comfort, love, and safety. Need to be needed back.

Ian moaned into Mickey. Bucking his hip up as Mickey undid Ian's belt buckle. Mickey's hand snaked under Ian's too tight jeans after he unzipped them. Wrapped around Ian's dick and massaged until he felt precum slick over his thumb. He kept on feeling up Ian's mouth. Rubbed his erection into Ian's thigh to muzzle his own ache. The action only helped slightly. Mickey was hot all over. High on impending orgasm. He shook against Ian as he got his lover off and ignored himself. Because Mickey still couldn't fathom having sex. Despite his body's cry out for it. Ian yelped out, face jerking away from Mickey as he groaned and writhed beneath Mickey, coming down.

Mickey panted into Ian's sweaty neck. Spent even though he hadn't just been fucked. He shifted in their position and rolled off of Ian. Grabbed his crotch and righted himself. Mickey hissed as his palm came into contact with his twitching, sticky dick. He'd come in his pants. The wet spot was a testament. Thankfully, Ian was too busy running his hands over his side and gaining composure to notice. Which didn't take long. Ian's recovery time had always been quick. So had Mickey's. They were fuck buddies made in heaven. A couple made in hell.

Amused, Mickey watched them yet again. This time in the creepy ass mirror the hotel had placed above this obviously shag pad.

"You want me to—" Ian started to ask.

"No," Mickey blurted fast, interrupting. He laughed awkwardly after to lighten Ian's worried face. Thumbing his lip, Mickey reached out and grabbed Ian's shirt collar, pulled until Ian got the point and slid up against him. They laid there, Ian on his side, against Mickey, toying with the bruise on Mickey's rib with soft, easy fingers.

"I'll miss you," Ian finally said, more of a whisper. Face grave and serious. Mickey could feel the other boy's features twist up.

"Say that again," Mickey said, as deadpan as he could muster, "and I'll rip your tongue out of your head." His eyes glued to the mirror.

Quiet passed between them before they both broke into a fit of laughter.

Mickey breathed out the last of his laugh, his arm outstretched under Ian's head. His fingers burrowing into the blanket so that he didn't do something really gay. Like hug this guy. "I'll miss you too," Mickey admitted. And there was no lightness in his voice. He swallowed because this sucked. He didn't want to leave. Didn't want to hope Ian really planned on following. Was terrified that Ian would eventually forget him and the promise.

Ian was quiet. He hummed in his throat, flipping over on his back. The motion hurt Mickey's bicep, but he didn't let it show. Fiddling with his bracelet, Ian stared up at the mirror along with Mickey. "Better cut off your own tongue," Ian said suddenly. And lowly, breathed out a laugh as they both smiled again.

THE END


End file.
